'I don't see you,' said the captain; 'I want the editor.'
'I am the editor,' said the voice, 'but I can see no one at present except on business.'
'I am here on business,' said Greybrooke. 'I want to thrash one of your staff.'
'All the members of my literary staff are engaged at present,' said Mr. Licquorish, in a pleasant voice; 'which one do you want?'
'I want the low cad who wrote a review of a book called _The Scorn of Scorns_, in to-day's paper.'
The editor made no answer. He had other things to do than to quarrel with schoolboys. As he could not get out he began a leaderette. The visitor, however, had discovered the editorial door now, and was shaking it violently.
Mr. Licquorish thought for a moment of calling down the speaking-tube which communicated with the advertisement office for a clerk to come and take this youth away, but after all he was good-natured. He finished a sentence, and then opened the door. The captain strode in, but refused a chair.
'Are you the author of the book?' the editor asked.
'No,' said Greybrooke, 'but I am her friend, and I am here to thrash----'
Mr. Licquorish held up his hand to stop the flow of the captain's indignation. He could never understand why the public got so excited over these little matters.
Greybrooke did not know how to reply to this. He was not sure whether Nell wanted the authorship revealed.
'That has nothing to do with the matter,' he said. 'I want the name of the writer who has libelled her.'
'On the press,' said Mr. Licquorish, repeating some phrases which he kept for such an occasion as the present, 'we have a duty to the public to perform. When books are sent us for review we never allow prejudice or private considerations to warp our judgment. The _Mirror_ has in consequence a reputation for honesty that some papers do not possess. Now I distinctly remember that this book, _The Vale of Tears_----'
'I mean _The Scorn of Scorns_, was carefully considered by the expert to whom it was given for review. Being honestly of opinion that the treatise----'
'That the novel is worthless, we had to say so. Had it been clever, we should----'
Mr. Licquorish paused, reading in the other's face that there was something wrong. Greybrooke had concluded that the editor had forgotten about the first review.